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“Now, get in there and try it on,” the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument.
“I told you, I can’t afford that, O.” My stance is closed and my arms are crossed in front of my breasts.
“Never said you had to, my treat. Just go fit everything and let me peek.” His eyes have gotten this certain gleam over them.
“No way, that’s way too expensive!”
“Just let me decide what I can afford and what I can’t. I’ve had more than ten years of hook-ups without any dates, I’ve never gotten a gift for a girl, ever. I’ve never had a girlfriend, I live in a house without a mortgage on it, I make a good living and I spend practically nothing. Let me buy you some expensive underwear. You deserve nice things, Mor. Let me be nice to you.”
I’m still pouting, not ready to give in so easily.
He throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, just look at it this way. I love pretty lingerie, and you’d be doing me a favor if you’d let me buy you this stuff.”
I peek in the dressing room at the pile of underwear he’s picked out. He did make some really good choices.
“Fine, but if you’re so loaded then we’re buying a decent coffee machine for your home and you can pay for it.” I grunt, looking at all the items he’s holding. “They’ll probably all be the wrong sizes.”
He just rolls his eyes at me, opens the curtain and lets me step in. I give him a last glare before he closes the curtain again. I sigh and take in all the pieces he picked out. They’re all gorgeous, and they’re all in colors that would flatter my skin tone. Where the fuck do I start?
“I’m having trouble picking. There’s too many options, giving my head errors,” I say through the curtain as I start peeling my jeans bottoms off.
“Go with the navy ones first. With the white lace,” he says without thinking about it. There’s so many items here that I can’t even find the ones he means at first. I take off my t-shirt and pick up the set. It’s just as jaw droppingly pretty as all the others and I force myself not to look at the price tags.
Putting the set on over my underwear and looking at myself in the mirror makes me cringe. Why does it have to be so fucking expensice to look as drop dead gorgeous as this? There isn’t even a slither of fake modesty in me right now. I look fucking awesome. And they’re the exact right sizes.
“What’s taking you so long?” O asks.
“I can’t seem to stop staring at myself.”
O sticks his head inside the dressing room, making sure he keeps the curtain as closed as possible. I look at him through the mirror, my back still to the curtains. He visibly swallows. “Yeah, we’re getting that one.”
I’d like to argue with him, but I actually really would like to own this. For some reason, my cheeks have heated. O scrapes his throat. “Do the black one next.”
He closes the curtain again and waits outside on me like a perfect gentleman. I quickly change into the black set, which also fits me like a glove. And damn, that makes my ass look gorgeous. I scrape my throat, trying to find the courage to call O in to come look, but the sound is enough to make him stick his head in.
“Damn.” His eyes seem glued to my ass and I find myself smugly smirking at the sight of it. “Yeah, you need those as well. Now the burgundy ones.”
He retreats a little too quickly for my liking, and I hear some sounds from the other side of the curtain. I’m not opening them though, not looking like this, not even if it’s a lingerie store. I get changed again, taking a little more time with this set. It’s a bustier with suspenders that go along with a matching thong and thigh high stockings that end with a lace border. It’s not the kind of underwear I’m used to, so it takes some time to figure it out, but I make it work in the end.
When I stick my head out to let O see, he opens the curtains all the way and I shriek. “What the hell, O?”
He doesn’t even respond to my protest, he’s just devouring me with his eyes. I wonder whether he’s heard me talk at all. Doesn’t seem like it. He takes out his phone and starts snapping pictures of me.
“Hey, stop it! That’s rude!”
“Not taking pictures of this would be rude,” he mumbles before he starts tapping on his phone.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Sending them in the group chat with the guys.”
I grab his phone from his hands, to see pictures of myself in which I look fucking stunning. Replies start to come in as I’m staring at his screen.
Jonah: Where are you?
Dean: Fuck…
Gil: Smooth fucker. I knew you were up to something.
